Of Dreams and Nightmares
by TheMiner'sCanary
Summary: Clara has dreams spawned from various situations she's experienced real life. Of course she doesn't want to tell the Doctor-she's brave, and strong, and can take care of herself. How many nights will this last before they become unbearable? I have no affiliation with the creators of Doctor Who or the BBC. Reviews are wonderful :)
1. Chapter 1

She was walking along the sidewalk, a black bag slung over her shoulder.

It was a fine spring noontime, with a slight nip in the air and a hot sun shining down. The pavement was chilly beneath her open-toed flats. Brushing a brunette lock behind one ear, she approached the street. Her mobile rang as she waited for the pedestrian crossing-light man to wink into a white silhouette.

 _Danana Danana Danananaaaaa_

She rifled in her bag, looking up to see the little man on the traffic pole was now white. Stepping forward off the pavement, she raised her phone to her ear. "Hello?"

There was no verbal reply, only a pained, restricted breathing on the other end.

"Hello? I can't really hear you. Who is this?"

A whine came from the other end, a croaking, a noise of a wounded animal so terrible her heart froze stiff and her senses heightened. Mother bear was waking up.

"Do you need help? Who are you? Where are you?!"

Finally, a voice answered.

"It's…so…" the anonymous being rasped on the other end, sending gooseflesh prickling on her neck. Her eyes widened in fear and confusion, hanging on to every word in the middle of her busy street.

"It's so what? What is it? Where are you?" she pleaded urgently.

"…cold" the voice cracked with emotion.

"I can't feel…I can't see….I can't—" the voice moaned in agony…Clara felt tears burn in the corners of her eyes.

"Clara, help me—"

 _It was Danny._

Her mouth fell open in a concoction of disbelief, shock, horror…unspeakable grief-

SLAM!

And her body fell, the side of the yellow bus flashing at the edge of her vision. She felt the entire right side of her body crunch against the car, the revolting jerk of the bag-strap on her neck, her head snapping inwards towards the bus, the contact against cold hard metal.

She was flying to her left, knowing it was the end, that _it_ had already ended. Her head swam as the white crosswalk came closer, closer,

And she sat up in her bed.

She released a breath she didn't realize she was holding, adrenaline inflating her pupils and allowing her vision to adjust to that black and blue room. As her quickly sharpening mind contemplated what she'd just dreamt, and why, despair veiled her lids once more. Blinking away the burning tears watering her eyes, she lay back down on the sheets, brushing the blankets far away as possible. Danny. Of course it had been Danny…it would always _be_ Danny.

Wouldn't it?

She sighed and rolled over. Her bedside cabinet was striped with the sapphire moonlight that peeked through the blinds above her bed. A cutting of purple rhododendron stood tall in a slender glass, the petals just beginning to wilt in their plentiful bunches. Her peripheral vision almost read the digital clock, so she rolled onto her back and stared at the textured ceiling of her flat.

Even though the emotional hurt would linger in her mind for an unknown while, she classified this dream as just that: a dream. Nightmares were conceived of terror. Some _thing_ so twisted and wrong and beyond creepy, something darker than the realm of all things _okay_ that burned through your eyelids and remained in your vision no matter how many times you blinked. Something so _sick_ and _inexplicably wrong_. Danny's call was a dream, and she'd handled her fair share of nightmares. She'd bested them before, so she could overcome a _dream_ , no matter how heart-wrenching it was.

Maybe she needed to talk more about Danny. The brain has subtle ways of telling us what we need, but it usually breathes its secrets in a language we don't know anymore. Calling her gran was always an option, but she'd rather have her mum…she'd always rather have her mum, and she felt guilty for admitting it. Her gran was the only one who understood how Clara worked—her and the Doctor. So, 1 human. 1 human that she never wanted to bother, and 1 timelord who holds himself above domestic things and tries to avoid sentiment. She needn't bother the Doctor with her sympathetic, pudding brain's dream further along the week, in 2 days' time.

Anyway, he'd had it far worse. She had no place to even _begin_ to complain knowing what he'd seen and done, what he carried on his conscience even now. He had more nightmares than she had nights.

Stealing a deep breath of her cool, absent bedroom, she closed her eyes languidly and settled deeper into her pillow. Exhaling, she felt herself sink deeper, deeper, closer and closer to sleep. The deep thrum of her heart lulled her into the abyss.


	2. Chapter 2

She was drifting. She didn't know where she was, and yet she saw the impossibilities of everything around her…she could see everything, but knew nothing.

Her weightless body, still strapped snug inside the orange spacesuit, floated aimlessly about. She blinked against the glare of her helmet screen.

Of course, Clara had seen space before, but she'd never _been_ before. Well, if you counted riding on that space motorbike-hovercraft she'd rescued the Queen of Years with—but that was different. She had something to hold on to, to grasp with her hands and feel the seat snug and solid beneath her. She had hugged her legs to that bike like you would a horse, to ground herself as she flew towards infinity.

But now, she was alone and hypnotized by the vast expanse of the universe, the overwhelming enormity of the _blackness_ and pinpricks of light she knew were of thousands upon thousands of miles in diameter. So vast.

She could feel her tiny heart beating rapidly, the oxygen becoming thinner.

Words from a genderless, unknown voice echoed from her memory—"…I thought you would die of asphyxiation first." They echoed and whispered over and under each other, weaving themselves through her brain. They swirled and collided and recoiled from themselves like unsettled waters…

 _…_ _asphyxiation_

Her hot breath puffed back at her from the helmet. The air was too stuffy.

There was so much room around her, but not nearly enough air. Her breath began to fog the suit, and she could feel sweat forming a cool sheen on her face. She panicked. More hot breaths, _I thought you would die_

Instinct screamed to take off the helmet and breathe the space around her, but NO she couldn't _of asphyxiation,_ _I thought_ —She struggled to breathe _BREATHE CLARA!_ and to fight the instructions prattling insistently in her brain—

 _I thought you would die_

BREATHE! She couldn't stop herself as her gloves flashed up to the clasps around her neck, and feeling tears of pure terror roll down her face…she'd rather die by her own hands than by an empty air tank, and she hated herself for choosing the quick way…her heartbeats pounded in her head, and she began to feel dizzy _How long can you hold your breath…?_

Choking out a sob, she sipped the last breath of the agonizingly thin, burning air, and lifted the clasps—

And she wrenched the cover of her blanket away from her face. Cool air buffeted her skin, and her eyes flew open in shock, confusion. Her heart pounded in her chest, still panicking. Still blackness. _Air in space?!_ No, not space. There were no stars. Her mind settled as she leaned on her arm, propped up on a pillow. Oh. Another _dream_.

Grinning thankfully into the night, she heaved a deep cool sigh and wiped perspiration from her brow.

The blackness began to unnerve her, so she clicked on the lamp atop her nightstand. She resolved to buy a pack of glow-in-the-dark stars, the kind you stick in children's rooms, and slap them to the ceiling above her bed.

Stealing a deep breath of her cool, absent bedroom, she closed her eyes languidly and settled deeper into her pillow. The Doctor hadn't intended to scare her with that comment, he'd simply meant to relay his statistical predictions. And he'd saved her from the cave spider…a little voice in her head spat accusingly _but he didn't save you from_ space. Of course not. She ran into space and time of her own free will, and she loved it. It wasn't his place to save her from her choices. The gentle night began to consume her.

Exhaling, she felt herself sink deeper, deeper, closer and closer to sleep. The deep thrum of her now-steady heart lulled her into the abyss.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey, I'm sorry this took so long to publish. Thank you for your patience. I've just started quite a change in my life, and I needed some time to settle in. Enjoy :)_

She stood in the graveyard, populated by the technologically enhanced dead. It was a chilled, foggy morning, and the white lighting from the blank sky cast everything into cold highlight or dark shadow. Black and white, nearly void of color. If only it could be that simple…

 _"_ _Are you the one who brought me here?"_

 _"_ _Affirmative."_

 _"_ _So you know who I am, right?"_

 _"_ _You are not the Doctor."_

 _"_ _Of course I'm not the Doctor. I was lying to stay alive. But how do I know so much about him?"_

 _"_ _You are his associate."_

 _"_ _No, I'm not. I'm not his associate. I'm his best friend. Right now, his best friend, anywhere in the universe. Have you got any sort of Cyber-Internet in there because, really, you should look it up. Look what happens to you if you harm me."_

"I know exactly what happens if I harm you. I have so many times, Clara, and you don't even know."

She stared at the cyberman in confusion. It used her name, and its words were remorseful…but its voice was as monotonous as ever.

"You've died thousands of times because of me, because of what I chose to stand for." The lid begins to lift, slowly. "You _are_ my friend Clara, but you of all people know that I've had _so many friends_."

Malice crept into the cyberman's last words, and the face plate was revealed. The Eleventh Doctor's face, _her Doctor_ 's face, was a decaying rush of gray and blue flesh. His features sagged and puffed until he was almost unrecognizable, his once boyish face now grotesque and repulsive.

"D-Doctor, how—"

"CLARA YOU LEFT ME!" His face contorted into one of obvious grief and despair…and betrayal. "You LEFT ME. I thought I could have counted on you of all people to see me through my regeneration and you were BLINDED by your own, selfish, needy, picture-perfect, humany recreational desires! I showed you ME and you didn't ACCEPT me."

"Doctor I didn't mean—"

He began to raise his right arm, his face now twisted with rage. "Now, Clara Oswin Oswald, what kind of a _friend_ ," he spat, "is that!?"

She heard his arm firing up in an electronic whirr, but couldn't bring herself to jump to the side.

"Betrayal. You betrayed both of ME and ALL of ME, as well as one of your own kind! And that, Ms. Oswald," his face suddenly erupted in a blinding orange and yellow blaze, his features now on fire and burning away. The Twelfth Doctor's face, untampered, looked down at her from within the cyber-suite. "…is exactly what you deserve."

She felt her heart catch in her chest as she saw the arm-laser power up, knowing it would blast her into smithereens but not caring because she could not deny that his words were true. She deserved this. She really, truly—

A bright light flashed in her vision, and she opened her eyes. Sunlight striped her bed in a calm, uneven pattern. The air had turned on in her flat, slightly disturbing the blinds and causing the morning rays to fall across her face.


End file.
